Oliver Smith is eleven years old. He is short for his age, and bony, with skinny arms and legs, a head too big for his shoulders, and eyes too big for his head, due to the large, thick-rimmed glasses that he wears. His hair is scruffy, brown, and nondescript. The laces of his shoes are perpetually untied. He has no superpowers, although he wishes that he does.

If given superpowers, Oliver would like to be able to fly, perhaps, or to shoot red laser beams from his too-big eyeballs, or both. That way, when the boys in the schoolyard tease him for carrying round a thick book or tripping on his laces or just for being himself, he would be able to not only fly away, but to shoot them in their bums on his way out.

Oliver Smith is in love with his teacher. Very few of her students have ever been in love with her. She is older, admittedly, but not yet at the age when her breasts would sag and her hair gray; and, admittedly, she isn’t very pretty, but Oliver doesn’t mind these unimportant details. He loves the way she tells the boys not to encourage him when they laugh at him, because for Oliver, their laughter is the same as their teasing and fully deserving of a laser beam in the bum. He also loves the way his teacher says “Back to your seat, Oliver,” whenever he works up the courage to approach her desk. Obviously she knows and shares his feelings, rendering it unnecessary for those feelings to be discussed, or even to be spoken of at all. The best thing about her is that her name is Miss Smith, so when they marry she won’t even have to change it.